


Heartsease

by Slytherincess



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Cross-Generation Relationship, Dubious Consent, F/M, Lolita, Masturbation, Non Consensual, Underage Sex, Vladamir Nabakov, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-09
Updated: 2011-04-09
Packaged: 2017-10-17 19:34:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slytherincess/pseuds/Slytherincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darkness brings home fathers, with their real, unspeakable power. There is more to fathers than meets the eye. [POST-HBP] Draco was not the one to see her first. Lucius Malfoy watches Pansy Parkinson grow up, friend, playmate, and lover to his son Draco. Lucius wants her heartsease all to himself . . . A tribute fic to Vladamir Nabakov's gorgeous novel <i>Lolita</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heartsease

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. You can follow my writing and blog updates on Twitter at [**SnitchlyandTwee**](http://twitter.com/#!/SnitchlyandTwee/) or visit my Livejournal at [**Slytherincess**](http://slytherincesss.livejournal.com/). Feedback, kudos, constructive criticism, and/or reviews are always welcome here, at Twitter, or on Livejournal.

  
_Heartsease_   


  


\- - -

  


  
_Egg_   


  


_**1** _

I predicate my sin on both property and relation, for what am I, if not a despicable man, a man of an unjustifiable entitlement forged from aeons of generational grandiosity? Toward my subject, of her I could say many things. Such as, on the day she was born, the sky shimmered unexpectedly with clouds of Blue Morpho butterflies, strayed far off course from the Trinidads. Or how as an infant her wild shock of dark hair was an embarrassment to her mother, or that her eyes were the tantalising, Prussian colour of the sky just ready to turn over from the night. She was a fierce child with a beautifully sour countenance who laughed shrilly and possessed a hard, round face that scrunched up when she cried, a visible reminder of her cross, namesake flower. From birth, nothing she did was uncalculated, and she roamed the rooms and halls of my ancestral home with deliberate inquisitiveness, her quick mind taking inventory of every object encountered. She was never impressed with valuables, exhibiting the subtle, nonchalant way of the moneyed. No, it was always the throwaway items she would covet, ordinary, everyday items, that would catch her fancy with a single anomaly: a polished, pink crystal egg -- flawless save for the natural crack splitting its insides; a bifurcated miniature peacock's feather fashioned into a single quill; a vile, three-legged Kneazle even, which she took for a pet at age six after having dragged it spitting and hissing from within a tangled thicket of brambles in the forest underbrush. The revolting creature appalled all who encountered it but her face lit up in its company, and she named it Rroyy [pronounced 'Roy']. There is too much to say of her, I regret. Too much to say! Yet for you, kind reader, I shall do my best to provide a worthy snapshot.

\- - -

  


  
_  
**2**   
_   


My home was her second, my son the brother her own parents would never give her. The memories of her youth float through my mind shrouded in panels of thin cotton and tatted lace, the favoured fabrics of the nightgowns she wore during weekend sleepovers with Draco. Picture this! With her cross, unforgiving face tired and her body snuggled sleepily against the curving banister of my manor's main staircase, she would clutch there at my son's forearm as she bade me goodnight with a yawn: _Goodnight, Mr. Malfoy_. This was my cue to escort the both of them up to my son's bedroom and to lay them to their innocent sleep. "Ladies first," I would always say, and as my son turned over in his bed to await my terse ministrations I would first turn my attention to the strange, fetching creature that waited impatiently on his other twin bed. "There, Pansy," I would say, as I fiddled with the hem of her nightgown, arranging it so I might afford myself one last glimpse of her tender ankle before drawing up the covers around her. She was a restless sleeper, I discovered -- for, indeed, it was my duty as a father to check on the children as they slept, to ensure their safety in slumber -- and I'd find her asleep on top of her covers, limbs akimbo, her nightgown twisted up around her coltish, nubile thighs. I'd watch her -- always from the safety of my son's footboards, mind, lest my wife wander in; I could shift my gaze quickly -- and admire her wickedness. Even sleep held for her a beguiling agenda.

No, my son was not the one to see her first. It was I who watched her from the shadows like a panther sighting its prey might do, its restless, magnificent tail swishing silently in anticipation.

\- - -

  


  
_Caterpillar_   


  


  
_  
**3**   
_   


The children were twelve the year I was partnered with her father, Charles Parkinson. Word had come from the Dark Lord's rat servant that another duty called.

We shortly found ourselves slogging through the marshes of Ballaugh Curraghs in search of the Manticore's _Amanitas_ , a rare and wild mushroom that grew only upon the ground where a Manticore had been slain, and while it was difficult to pinpoint exactly where such a beast had been felled, lore told of the Manticore Wars of 1489 here in this very area.

"Ah, Lucius," Parkinson said jovially, trying to allay the drudgery. "You know the saying: _There are old mushroom hunters, and there are bold mushroom hunters, but there are no old, bold mushroom hunters_."

"Indeed." I paused to dislodge my boot from a sucking vortex of black mud. "Did you think of that on your own, or did you read it somewhere?"

"Can't say that I remember," he said. "Been with me for a while, you know. My grandfather was an avid mycologist. Perhaps it was he who first planted the ditty."

We forged on, struggling through the deep mud, our arms swinging scythe-like for balance. "So, Charles," I said, slightly winded from our efforts, "have you heard? Our Draco's been made Seeker for Slytherin this year."

"Why, exceptional news! How'd he manage it, what with the older Warrington boy in the running?"

I resented Parkinson's implied dispersion. "While the Warrington boy is talented," I drawled, my teeth set, "he is set to leave Hogwarts after this school year. Draco brings not only skill to the team, but also longevity to the position." How dare he suggest my son unworthy of the appointment!

"Well, our team's bound for glory, then, isn't it? I often enjoy watching Draco fly with my Pansy out behind the house in the fields there. His is a raw talent, I say. But powerful." Parkinson peered at me then. "Why did you yourself never play Quidditch at Hogwarts, Lucius?"

I was woefully unathletic except in spirit, and a cold, licking flame of anger ignited in my gut at his intrusive questions. I fumbled for an easy gloss-over, but just then was saved when a spot of red caught my eye. I turned toward the gleam and spotted a crimson cluster of the elusive _Amanitas_ nestled at the foot of a towering ash tree, its bark shaded with moss. "Look, Parkinson! A Manticore died in that spot." I hung back when he came to attention and hurried forth. He knelt, his knees sinking into the spongy earth, and he brandished his wand expertly and uttered a harvesting spell. One by one the devilish mushrooms plucked themselves from the ground and piled into the bag he had set out beside him. I watched, silent, as he attended to our task, until the sack was bursting.

"There," Parkinson said, satisfied. "Just let me bind them up."

"Take your time," I said generously. "So, how is your Pansy, then?"

"She's our delight," he said, busy. "Her marks are excellent so far, and while she struggles slightly in Potions, Snape assures us she will catch up once she gets the feeling for the larger cauldron. She's stellar with Charms and Transfiguration." He stood, sack in hand. "She gets along nicely with her friends. Mary-Margarethe and I hope she'll be made prefect her fifth year. Really, I am undeserving of such a wonderful daughter . . . " He looked at me queerly then, and to this day I remain unsure as to whether he experienced a premonition at that exact moment, my actions foreshadowed to him even before the impulse had bloomed fully in my own mind. But how could I ignore the prophetic signs presenting themselves to me? For, as Charles Parkinson plucked the mushrooms, an iridescent blue butterfly had floated down to where we stood, upon a filtered, hazy trail of light that leaked through the dense forest canopy. It was a sign -- a sign! -- and I knew I had to act. But how? Then, suddenly I knew what the butterfly meant. I was enlightened! I pulled my wand and advanced.

"I agree," I said, quite unremarkably. "You are undeserving. _AVADA KEDAVRA_!" A jet of green light flashed, which was followed by a laconic afterhush. There came a slight splashing sound when his body fell forward, and he landed with his eyes wide open. I watched nonplussed as the brackish water trapped amongst the gnarled roots of the ancient ash seeped into his surprised mouth and pooled silently in the pouch of his cheek.

" _Deletrius_ ," I incanted, at once banishing the record of my misdeed, and then grabbed up the sack of mushrooms and secured it in my belt. The Dark Lord would be very displeased to lose as solid and loyal a follower as Parkinson. However, these things at times simply cannot be helped.

\- - -

  


  
_  
**4**   
_   


It rained the day Charles Parkinson was buried and I took delight in the dark banality of this somber cliché. Pansy's mother Mary-Margarethe, wracked with grief, clung to my wife's arm for support, rocking slightly as she whispered nonsensical words about her poor, dead husband. I stood on the other side of her -- it was ever so good of us to show our support for this poor woman, was it not? When I felt the soft puff of Pansy's mittened hand slip into my own gloved palm, triumph coursed through me.

Turning, I whispered to her, as her father's casket began its slow, creaky descent into the ground. "Whilst your father was a good and important man," I said, my eyes devouring her from head to toe, "you mustn't feel you are alone, Pansy. Why, you've me." I gave her small hand a squeeze, for emphasis. She nodded, her eyes dry, but reflective of the damage I had wrought. "I shall be a father to you in a _different_ way." I gave pause, to allow my magnanimous statement to take root. "Should you like that?"

"Yes," she said, but while glancing downward. Had I not been so enamoured, I might have detected her perfunctory tone.

"Good, then!" I was still whispering, although her mother's wailing likely sheltered my words from trained ears. And, with that, I set about planning -- planning, my friends!

\- - -

  


  
_Wing Development_   


  


  
_  
**5**   
_   


"Lucius," my fine wife asked me one morning, "do you feel it's still proper for Pansy to sleep in Draco's room when she stays over?"

"Why would it not be?" The children were now fifteen.

"Come now," she said, looking at me slyly. "You remember us at their age, surely?"

"You were curious," I said, reaching to cover her hand with my own. Oh, she was a magnificent partner -- sharp as an executioner's axe, witty, an impeccable hostess, a wonderful mother. Her beauty was the kind that grew more refined with age; her loveliness was almost painful to behold. Oh, no, I have no complaints of my marriage. Yet! I must play my cards carefully here, lest she suspect my prurient intentions, for I shall make no false protestations -- I believe I anticipated these nights more than the children did. I never prompted my son to issue the invitation, but always waited for the idea to occur to him naturally. Occasionally, I would object, stating that it wasn't a good night for guests, that I, or Narcissa, had important business the next morning, for which we must rise early. _It wouldn't be right_ , I would say, _to leave two underage youths unattended. These days, one couldn't be too careful_. They remained in the dark, unaware that my glorious showcase of a home was as dangerous as any uncharted territory or unfinished hideaway. "You were curious, indeed." I rose and rounded the table to place an affectionate kiss at her crown, fondly stroking her shoulder.

"Draco and Pansy--"

"Are also curious, likely," I interjected.

"And you're not concerned?"

Concern was perhaps the wrong adjective. "Of course I'm concerned," I said. "I don't mean to sound dismissive. If it should please you, you should instruct them not to share Draco's bedroom any longer. Pansy would enjoy one of our guestrooms, I expect."

My wife summoned our house-elf, whose name I could never recall. "Clear the dishes, Anna," she commanded efficiently, and the properly cowed creature set about its task immediately. Narcissa continued our conversation. "My fear, though, is if I bring the subject of, well, _curiosity_ to Draco, that it might fuel exactly that which we're hoping to avoid. What if mere discussion leads to activity, Lucius? If we bring up the matter with them, won't they be spurred to experiment?"

I chuckled. "I suspect they will experiment regardless. Why, who knows if they even fancy each other that way? They're practically siblings." The thought sent a delicious thrill down my spine.

"Oh, they fancy each other."

This was news. "And you know this how?"

"Some robes I'd ordered for Draco arrived by owl, so I took them to him," Narcissa said. "I admit I didn't knock. They were kissing."

I cocked an eyebrow. "Oh?" How interesting.

"Well, to be honest, Pansy seemed flustered by it." She smiled wryly, as if surprised anyone might not automatically welcome the amorous overtures of her wonderful son. "I got the impression she was nervous."

"See, then? We've nothing to fear. It's quite natural for a boy to gravitate toward the familiar when he starts . . . being curious."

"Perhaps you're right," my wife conceded. "You yourself were once a boy, after all. Yet, I don't want to be one of those parents who chooses to remain ignorant of her child's sexual development. Nor, though, do I want to suggest I approve of Draco and Pansy engaging in mature activities." She sighed. "It is unfortunate the body grows faster than the mind."

Unfortunate for others, perhaps. "I completely agree," I said. "I shall speak to Draco immediately."

Narcissa smiled. "Thank you, Lucius. I think it would be best coming from you, his father."

"Again, I agree."

She swept past me then, intent on starting her day. "I have a League meeting at eleven. Let me know how your talk with Draco goes, yes?"

"Of course I will." I watched her go.

The next week I reported to her that our son and I had held a very productive, father-to-son conversation, and that Draco was now thoroughly well-versed in propriety and seemliness -- and, as double assurance, he was now privy to a comprehensive list of protective charms and potions, if you understand my meaning. However, I must admit I exaggerated my accomplished deed, for in actuality I had merely slipped a dull, educational publication, hidden chastely within a plain book jacket, under Draco's pillow. I spoke nary a word of warning to my son of curiosity or lust, or of Pansy of the Prussian, seductive eyes.

\- - -

  


> _ **6**_

I often made it my habit to prowl the house at night, and this was true even more so than usual during the Christmas season. I am not a man immune to simple pleasures -- I, too, could be lured in by the pleasing aesthetic value of a fully trimmed Christmas tree. My lovely wife had imbibed in one brandy too many and had fallen into a stuporous sleep just as I was kissing and nipping about the smooth plane of her belly. Alas! So, that Christmas night I found myself meandering, restless and aroused, clothed only in my classic man's nightgown, leaded snifter in hand, my breath heavy with brandy. I led myself to the spacious sitting room where my Narcissa's impeccable decor set perfectly the scene to come. There, I found my children entwined in a passionate embrace, next to the dipping branches of the Christmas tree, opened packages and shiny objects scattered in the wake of their lust. I remained in shadow, silent and riveted.

I imagined with gusto the route of Pansy's traversing hands. Draco's clothes were fully undone and her thigh was trapped firmly between his legs as he frotted against her, and I felt my own cock tumesce and grow hard as my excitement burgeoned unabashedly. Ah, the vicarious joy of their youth. Their unlearned, sensual fumblings! Their thrill of discovering, finally, that which we all long for from birth. The joy of putting a name to the face that is desire. I had waited so long for this moment. So long!

Their tongues were a swirling pink tangle, and I wondered where her nimble fingers were then. Had they encircled my son's youthful erection? No, impossible, for Draco was pressed too tightly against her, and I could see the slender length of her forearm disappearing down the back of his undone trousers. I could hardly contain my arousal as I imagined her hand stroking Draco, imagined her drawing a finger down the cleft of his buttocks to circle against the tight, puckered ring of his arse -- but, no! That was far too advanced and distasteful a manouevre for a girl of her limited experience. However, her hand was delving far enough that I thought surely it had dipped below the slight curve of my son's backside. Draco's breath came jaggedly, and I could imagine the scent of her sweet breath, warm and muggy against the hollow of his throat as he circled and thrust against her. Was she tickling the thick base of his erection? Did she caress his tender sac, squeezing and kneading him in just the right way?

"Pansy?" Draco's voice broke. " _Stop_ , or I'm going to--"

"Do it," she commanded, heady with arousal. "I want to make you feel good . . . "

 _Yes_! I thought silently, mentally urging them on. _Spread your wings_! _Seize fiercely your metamorphosis_!

My son bit into the lush fruit of her lips as he tightened his arms around her back and squeezed her tightly. He groaned into her mouth, quivering and jerking in her arms as he flooded his boxers. Pansy pulled her leg free, in the process allowing me the slightest, the most perfect glimpse of her simple white knickers.

It was all too much! My senses exploded, an unexpected cold energy pulsing through my core, and then I felt the surprising hot patter of my own come as it pulsed onto the carpet. My flood tide sullied the tops of my house shoes as my climax unspooled, astonishing and sublime even without the benefit of touch. In my hands I still gripped my brandy and decanter. It was a breathtaking moment, full and rich like that from an especially favoured erotic dream.

After my sense returned to me, I sought my escape, only to be brought up shortly by the unmistakable yellow glow of our house-elf's eyes. So, I was not the only creature lurking about, hidden within the shadows. "Annie," I commanded, whispering as I knelt to grasp her shoulders. "Annie, I command you to never say a word to Mistress Narcissa of what has transpired here tonight. She need not know. Do you understand?" I spoke coldly and without thought to the house-elf's position in this at all. "You are never to speak of our private matters to anyone. I forbid you to speak to your Mistress of any private matters, Annie."

The elf nodded vigourously, its ugly, frightened face bobbing like a shrunken Witchdoctor's head. "Anna understands, sir. Anna shall not speak of private matters to Mistress Narcissa, even though private matters takes place in Mistress's own house, and Mistress would want Anna to tell her--"

I caught the unfortunate creature by the neck, my thumb and forefinger easily encircling her throat, and it was like pinching into a round of soft cheese as I hissed, "You dare to disobey me, you worthless creature?" The tiny house-elf struggled, its face growing purple for lack of breath. I thrust it away from me, smiling mirthlessly as it crumpled to the ground. "You have your orders," I reminded the creature quietly, who was now coughing and wheezing pathetically. "Clean up this mess," I ordered, as I left the sanctuary of my unexpected hiding place. "And when you're finished? Clutch in each hand a hot coal from the fire, for your impudence."

\- - -

  


  
_Pupa_   


  


  
_  
**7**   
_   


While my two years spent in Azkaban were less than comfortable, and not just slightly unexpected, I found it to be a respite of sorts from the day-to-day tedium of service to the Dark Lord. When it came I did not object to the detainer. Indeed, it is few men who find themselves under the supervision of such an exacting superiour as my Lord. Frankly, I was bored with my post, unfulfilled. While I shall not dissect the reasons behind my servitude today, my dear reader, suffice it to say the Dark Lord and I . . . well, we grew apart. I shall leave it at that.

\- - -

  


  
_  
**8**   
_   


My son, my son! My beautiful, fine son. Upon the death of the Dark Lord, my noble, brave boy emerged from hiding, his flower once again at his side. We spoke not of his youthful foible atop the tower at Hogwarts that fateful June night; he did not appear to be broken, although I know such matters are often consulted upon privately, only within the prison of one's mind. It was with this supposition in the wake of my son's continued moroseness that I laid further my plan.

"Draco," I said one evening, enjoying my post-prandial port. "Why not treat yourself to a fine birthday celebration this year? We've had a rough go of it these past years. Should you not like to celebrate?" I took care to leave the bottle atop the cabinet with a casual indifference suggesting I might be planning on a second glass later that night. I had always made a great show of protecting my children from the evils of alcohol before they were of proper age and comportment. My planning was exquisite, my friends. It was nothing for me to wait years for a single chapter to impeccably unfold, and I was a man of multiple, ongoing chapters. Like any good writer should be. I laid aside the newly opened bottle of port, saved now for ten years -- saved for this time, this particular opportunity. It was spring again and my son's birthday was mere days away. I stepped away from my liquor cabinet, leaving the port deliberately unattended.

"Well?" I asked, enquiring again when my son failed to respond. He was so often lost in thought these days. "Wouldn't you like to celebrate your birthday? Why, you always used to love doing so."

"I don't know," Draco said, unmoved. "I hadn't really thought about it."

"Why do you not think of yourself, Draco?"

He merely shrugged.

"Then, think of Pansy," I suggested. "She so very much wishes to see you happy again. Where is the cheek, son, which we all know so well?"

Draco looked at me then, a variety of emotion right there, brimming in his eyes, and I immediately sensed his inner struggle. He thought me a fool, knowing quite rightfully that nothing would ever be the same for him -- that when he let his arm waver and dip that night at Hogwarts he had forever given up claim to his childhood, his innocence, his inculpability. Yet, there was his other voice, the petulant child's, urging him to reclaim the refuge within the safety of his father's enormous shadow, just as he had always been wont to do.

"When your mother turned eighteen," I continued, adopting the warm tone of a storyteller, "I took her to a wonderful dinner in London. The restaurant was so expensive, we couldn't afford wine service! It was the only damper on an otherwise perfect evening. We had a most splendid time, if you understand my meaning." I winked and my son rolled his eyes, put off by the suggestion of his mother and myself sharing any kind of dalliance. "Of course I'm not suggesting you and Pansy should do with your time, only that she would probably like your attention. If you cannot find any enthusiasm for your own birthday, perhaps you can muster some for hers."

My son nodded, his eyes downcast as he picked at a pill on his trousers. When he looked up he stared right past me, fixing his gaze, presumably, on the bottle of port just behind me. "I suppose."

I turned then, and recapped the bottle, silently incanting a wordless echoing charm and instantly my wife's lilting voice sounded, as if coming from another part of the house. " _Lucius? Can you help me with a portrait_?"

"Of course," I answered, knowing full well my Narcissa was in the library sorting books with Annie. "I'll be right there." I turned to my son. "Draco, put away the port for me. It's an expensive brand and I shouldn't want it to over-breathe." I gave a well-timed chuckle, again recalling the idea of celebration. "In fact, I do believe this is the very kind your mother and I had for her birthday, those many years ago." I put my glass aside. "Think about what I've said."

\- - -

  


  
_  
**9**   
_   


Later that night, long after Draco had fallen asleep, I inventoried my liquor cabinet thoroughly, and was pleased to find the port I had trusted to his care was not amongst the many bottles found therein. As expected, he had taken my bait.

\- - -

  


  
_  
**10**   
_   


I helped my son select a restaurant amongst London's finest -- a French restaurant, Taillevent Nox, for those interested -- knowing very well the patrons and staff of that particular establishment would never tolerate the exhausting adolescent antics that would undoubtedly unfold. I was perfect in my planning, allowing for every possible contingency. When the night finally came, Pansy was positively ravishing in her beautiful dressrobes, the silken organza fabric alluring and alive, vibrant shades of blue colour and shimmering spirals of stardust woven throughout. My son was equally regal in his own robes. Pansy's birthday fell on a Saturday, one day after Draco's, which was perfect for two reasons: One, my wife had a standing social engagement on Saturdays, where she and a group of friends engaged in quiet card play or discussed popular novels and current events. Second . . . well, I shall save my second reason for a later revelation.

With a _crack_ my children Apparated from just outside the gates to our estate to the restaurant in London. I allowed a full two minutes to pass before Apparating after them. Disguising myself with a simple glamour, I made my appearance at the restaurant in question, lingering inconspicuously in the background after giving a pseudonym to the maître'd. Seated across the room from my children, having demanded a particular table, I dined on _escargots a la bourguignonne_ paired with an excellent cut of beef and arugula tossed in fresh lemon juice served with grilled prawns, cracked pepper and asiago shavings. I observed Draco's clumsy slights of hand as he surreptitiously dosed out overly generous portions of the stolen port under the table, disguising his folly within the innocent confines of two juice glasses, the original dual servings of fizzy beverage long gone. For every sip my darling Pansy took, my son had three or four. Things were progressing most excellently indeed.

They whispered, they laughed, they grew pink in the cheek together, their half-eaten dinners soon cold on their plates. The ambient lighting of the place offered them a small semblance of privacy. The tables were perfectly placed, neither too close nor too far apart. Under the increasing influence of my stellar port they may as well have been alone, as little as they cared about the presence of those around them. Their kisses grew bolder and more intimate, although they still made half-hearted attempts at propriety by occasionally glancing about to see if they were being observed before again attempting to devour the other. It wasn't long before Pansy was curled against my son's side cosily, her hand snaking under the edge of the tablecloth and down the front of his trousers.

I imagined the fine muscles on the top of her forearm working rhythmically as her fingers caressed the fabric-covered length of Draco's cock. He leaned into her, settling his head on her shoulder and closing his eyes as he tried to control his outward response.

Glorious! I stood, knowing my moment was yet to come. I emptied my purse onto the table, grossly overpaying, and I thanked the front of the house with a genteel nod and a smile before making my escape into the night, discarding my glamour as I went.

\- - -

  


  
_  
**11**   
_   


I had not been home even twenty minutes when the call came from Taillevent Nox, to which I arranged my features to reflect neutral surprise.

"Mr. Malfoy, sir," the maître'd's voice said, breaking through the silence of my sitting room via my fire. "I regret the intrusion. However, we've a situation here that requires your attention."

"Oh?" I enquired, my brows furrowing. "Whatever could be wrong?"

"It's young Master Draco, I'm afraid. Apparently he's had too much to drink, which is _most_ odd," he said, his voice taking on an oily, passive-aggressive tone of annoyance, "seeing as his cheque reflects no wine order."

"How very strange indeed!" I said, rising from my chair. I laid aside my book. "Should you require me to come collect him, then?"

"If you would."

"Shall do." My heart sang as the maître'd's face disappeared from the flickering flame -- it was _too_ perfect! Surely, it was meant to be -- am I right, dear reader? Surely, it must have been meant to be, just as I had come to believe over my many years of lying in wait. The signs were all there, what with Pansy's ethereal blue dressrobes the exact colour of her wayward butterflies.

\- - -

  


  
_  
**12**   
_   


After another twenty minutes, and after I had pressed handfuls of Galleons into the restaurant staff's eager palms, I found myself finally in possession of my drunken son and his silly, intoxicated date. She clung to my arm as I discreetly levitated Draco through the kitchens of Taillevent Nox, a gaggle of house elves fleeing in the wake of my approaching shadow.

"We just wanted to have a spot of fun," Pansy gurgled happily, stumbling sideways. "I guess Draco had too much."

"Draco isn't the only one," I said, adopting my most severe tone. "You must promise to never, ever do this again! I shan't have the Malfoy name disparaged amongst the restaurateurs. You should consider the same caution for your own reputation."

"Oh," she said, immediately recalcitrant. She looked up at me through her lush, sooty lashes. "I'm sorry!"

"See that you are," I commanded coldly. "This is unforgivably shameful." Draco bobbed uselessly ahead of us as I directed him with my wand. We made our way to a quiet alley. "Now, how to get home?" I mused. "Normally, I'd Apparate both of you home, but, as you know, it would be risky. Draco could be Splinched." She gasped at the thought of her beloved exploding into fragments of pale nothingness. "No," I drawled, "I shall complete tonight's lesson, and teach you what happens when you overindulge." With this, I drew my wand and lifted my arm straight up. The look of horror on Pansy's face when the towering, violently purple monstrosity that is the Knight Bus careened toward us was quite possibly alone worth this entire endeavour. "After you," I said grandly, as the bus's purple doors flapped open with a creaking, hydraulic hiss. "Behold, the last resort that is known fondly as mass transit." Draco flung over my shoulder, I prodded her in the arse with my wand, forcing her to clamber up the narrow stairs of the bus, complaining and protesting the entire way.

I delivered exactly thirty-three sickles to the conductor, and we made our way down the aisle. The bus was, as I knew it would be, packed to overflowing with other travelers in exactly the same predicament as my poor son. I had known -- my second crafty reason now revealed -- that a Saturday night would find the Knight Bus very busy indeed, as it delivered the rat-arsed here and there. It would be a drawn-out, bumbling ride to Wiltshire. I deposited Draco into one of two remaining free seats, next to an ancient wizard who reeked of Firewhiskey. Draco slowly slumped sideways and came to rest against the stranger's shoulder. Pansy and I took the seat just behind him, it being the last available without having to resort to the upper stories. We were all the way in the back of the bus, and Pansy and I crammed ourselves into a two-seater which was already occupied by an extremely corpulent witch, whose head was thrown back against the rear wall of the bus. She was snoring with such gusto the hairs on her chin bent and rose with each draw of her breath, like waves of grass on a moor.

"Vile!" Pansy sniffed, her shoulders hunching as the bus lurched dangerously, and then sped forward at breakneck speed. "She smells!"

"Doesn't she, though?" I agreed, amused.

"I thought this thing was supposed to have beds and easy chairs!" She wrinkled her nose in distaste as she looked about.

"Ah, yes," I clarified gleefully. "But, not on a Saturday! The Knight Bus reverts to row seating on Saturdays, due to all the drunken louts needing transportation -- such as you two." I raised a knowing eyebrow at her.

"I have to pee!" she whinged uncouthly.

"How unfortunate. The ride's just begun."

"You should have let me go back at the restaurant!" She sulked, clinging to the back of Draco's seat.

"Except that you didn't ask," I corrected her. She pressed into my side as the bus took a sharp left and I took up her hand, providing her leverage. "Tell me about the restaurant," I cajoled quietly, drawing her hand upward, the tangy scent of my son still upon her delicate palm, its sordid musk wafting gently against my nostrils. "What possessed you to misbehave so blatantly?" She turned her drunken gaze on me, holding my eyes steadily. "Where did you get the alcohol?" I enquired innocently.

"I don't know," she said, pulling her hand back. I tightened my grip, holding her close. "Draco brought it!"

"So, the two of you decided to get pissed. Why?" I pressed the tips of her fingers against my mouth, my lips curling under their touch with the slightest of smiles. "Were you planning something extraordinary?"

She flushed slightly, and the bus heaved to the right. Pansy was crushed against me as the fat witch beside us swayed accordingly. "I get it!" she groused petulantly. "You've made the point! Please, let's get off this wretched thing and just Apparate home."

"You would leave Draco behind? Or risk him being Splinched? How unkind of you, Pansy." I let go of her hand and twisted sideways slightly, putting my hands to her waist. "I shall not be so cruel, though. Here." I helped her onto my lap, jerking her against me so tightly that I knew she would feel the iron length of my erect cock against her arse. "This will be much better for you."

Surprised, she turned to look at me, but she did not protest, and this would prove a fatal mistake on her part. I buried my fists in the floating panels of organza of her robes, squeezing her hips as I pressed my chest against her back. The bus lurched again, and she was thrown forward slightly. Instinctively, she touched her toes to the floor of the bus and braced herself, and clutched tightly at my knees. "What are you doing?" she giggled drunkenly. "You shouldn't be doing that!"

My Pansy's wings were still wet indeed, her newfound maturity a savoury feast for the predator! "Here you are, the naughty one, telling me what I should or should not do." I tutted reprovingly and changed my grip, sliding my hands along the tops of her thighs. The elastic of her knickers was quite discernible through the delicate fabric of her robes, under the seeking tips of my fingers. Her warmth was unfurling from her depths and, oh, reader, how it radiated! She was glorious and pure and youthful. I crushed her arse to my cock, making no attempt to hide my desire for her. In fact, I couldn't stop myself from groaning as I rubbed my cock against her through the painful folds of my clothing. "Yes, you are the villain here," I said, my tone low and silky, shocked that she had yet to pull away. "In fact, I believe I know the tale of your evening. Shall I tell it?" I thought I felt her shift slightly then, thought I felt her press back against me ever so slightly. My breath quickened.

"Draco snuck a bottle of . . . hmm, let me see--" I nuzzled at her jaw and pressed my mouth against the corner of her lips, breathing in deeply. "Was it brandy? Or was it port? Which was it, Pansy?" I lifted a finger to her lips, silencing her before she could answer. "Draco snuck a bottle of liquor into the restaurant, perhaps because he hadn't saved enough of his spending money to afford decent wine service. No matter, though. Fiscal prudence is certainly a learnt skill." Letting my hand drop lower, I bunched the front of her robes over her thighs with practised ease and when I had her exposed I reached right for her centre, steadying myself with one hand splayed across her belly. "You've had too much to drink as well, haven't you?"

She nodded silently, biting her lip, the unfulfilled, unsatisfied desire from her earlier encounters with my son obviously still coursing freely within her. She was invigourated by my words in her ear. Oh, she was torn! She knew very well it was wrong for her to be perched upon the hard cock of her one true love's father, wriggling and shifting wantonly like she was. However, as the dear reader surely knows, such a flame once ignited is never easily quelled.

I whispered into her ear so quietly, it might have been a dream. "May I touch you?"

"I--" Her breath came rapid and sweet.

"No one would ever know," I promised her, stroking upward, tiny ambiguous flutters playing under my touch. "Are you feeling unfinished, Pansy?" She looked at me questioningly, unsure of my inquiry. I rolled her nipple between my thumb and forefinger then, right through the fabric of her robes, and my balls tightened ominously at the sensation. I must pace myself carefully. Viciously, I clamped down on her nipple until she squealed and writhed, and tossed her head backward. "Sorry," I lied, barely able to contain my hair-trigger orgasm threatening dangerously to spill. "You and Draco were ill-behaved in the restaurant, weren't you? Did you touch him, under the table?"

"How would you know that?" she protested breathlessly.

"I was informed of your antics," I said, certainly unwilling to admit I had watched their inobtrusive tryst. "Tell me, Pansy, when you were tossing my son off in the restaurant, did you actually undo his trousers? Did you pull him out, right there in the middle of it all?" My words were sharp, pointed, driving home the knowledge of our shared secret. She made some noise of assent. "Show me how you did it," I ordered, taking hold of her hand again.

"Mmm, God, I _really_ have to use the loo," she protested, wriggling. "Can't we--"

"No," I said, cupping her breast fully. I nudged into the fall of her hair at the back of her neck with my nose, and pressed my lips against the gentle curve of her shoulder until she shivered. "You'll just have to suffer. _Show me how you did it_!" She made a protesting noise and shook her head; I found myself mildly annoyed. "Fine," I said, ultimately allowing her the pass as my hands roved freely over her front. "Then, I shall tell you. You leaned into Draco, as if merely cuddling up. You let your hand drop into his lap and you touched him through his trousers." Her head tipped back against my shoulder. Again I reached for her robes and began pulling them forward, pulling them up. "You must have had to have made the decision whether or not you were going to finish him off rather quickly, because once a man is hard, it's so very difficult to get his trousers properly undone, isn't it? Did Draco help you undo his trousers, Pansy? Right there in the restaurant?"

The Knight Bus screeched to a stop, pitching us forward again. The witch beside us snorted and gasped, and then shifted back into sleep.

"Did the thought of making my son come in a public place excite you?" I continued, once we had regained our bearings. She made another keening noise, and I slid her robes up over the tops of her thighs, all the while rubbing and caressing her gently. She was so pale, so pristine! "You will be an excellent lover when you're grown, what with your already exotic tastes."

"I am grown." She said it so seriously, I was forced to attention.

"So you are," I said slowly. "Which is why I know how frustrated you must feel right now. Women don't like being put off." Again, I brought her hand up and inhaled deeply. "You made him come, didn't you? You made him come, and what happened? He passed out, sated! But, you're not sated, are you? No, you're not even close." My words curled insidiously into her ear. "Let me help you, then." I thrummed my fingers against the smooth crotch of her knickers, stroking the hidden treasure there, and a few brushes across the thin material left no doubt that she was aroused and eager and hot. "You are so ready . . . so ready!"

"I can't!"

"You can."

"Draco would never forgive me," she whispered, almost tearfully, while I basked in the glow of her body's betrayal.

"I'm excellent with memory charms," I whispered in return, deftly sliding a finger under the elastic band of her knickers and stroking gently down the soft cleft of her wet slit, giving her an anticipatory taste. "It's settled then," I said, when she writhed in response, but did not object aloud. "I shall wipe clean your memory -- that is, if you request it." I sucked in my breath. "Oh, you are so beautiful!" I nipped at her neck as I stroked her cunt softly, gently. She was so lovely, so heady -- a vision of perfection. I had waited so long to feel her!

"I really need the bathroom!" she whispered fiercely. "I'm not having you on!"

"You will control yourself," I said, once again commanding her. "We can use your predicament to your advantage." I nipped at her earlobe. "Let me bring you off -- it would keep you from being able to empty your bladder long enough for us to make it home." I slid my fingertips over her slick clit, circling expertly until she groaned. "Don't think about it," I said soothingly. "You're in control of yourself. You wouldn't shame yourself like that. Not here, not with me." Her breathing calmed as I explored her petal-soft folds, slick with her desire. She smelt of pure lust, unsullied by any other impurities, and I shortly knew that I had to have her -- had to _fuck_ her. I hadn't planned on that, really. I slid lower in my seat until my knees were wedged against the back of my son's seat. "Lift up," I ordered her, withdrawing my hand. She protested, but leaned forward, looking back at me so wantonly that I feared for my goal. Hastily I undid my trousers and released my cock, pushing my trousers down just far enough so that she could access me, and then I discreetly divested her of her knickers. Roughly I pulled her back down onto me; she sat, and I practically ripped right through the tangle of delicate robes floating wildly around her. I pawed my way through them, rearranging, until my aching, turgid erection pushed up through her thighs. I brushed myself against her hot, wet cunt until the tip of my cock caught in the tight cleft of her clit, digging against the soft folds of her core.

"This is wrong," she slurred, fisting her hands in her robes, her head lolling back drunkenly. "Wrong, wrong, wrong -- _Oh_!" She sighed as I reached beneath her skirts and rubbed the tip of my cock against her.

"Move!" I hissed, wriggling impatiently against her. "You can't stand it anymore!" I projected my own feelings onto her with a harsh bark, and the breath caught in my throat as she heeded my command and moved tentatively against me. My hot erection slid and rubbed against her wildly. "Touch me!" I grabbed her hand and wrenched it downward to replace my own, biting down on my bottom lip to keep from crying out in ecstasy as her warm fingers curled around my cock and pumped my shaft, which was beautifully slick from the wetness of her own arousal. I imagined her touching Draco as she was now fondling me, imagined her plying his orgasm from his depths. "Tell me when you're close," I said, "for I've got something better to show you."

Her hair tumbled and swung as we rutted in the back of the bus and the scent of our encounter distinctly permeated the air. We rubbed and fondled and caressed one another as the bus made stop after stop, letting off drunken sod one after another, and it was just before Wiltshire that her breath finally quickened and her movements became more abandoned. Success! I reclaimed my cock and guided it toward her centre, slipping and sliding, looking for my completion. "Don't!" I said, holding her completion in abeyance. "Not yet! I need to be inside you, to feel you . . . " I slicked up my length yet again, unable to resist pulling at the spongy head several times. This proved to be a mistake -- I could feel my orgasm tearing free. I moved to fuck her.

"No!" she shook her head, starting to struggle at the sensation of my probing cock.

"Why not?" I said, through gritted teeth, impatient.

"Because I only want to do that with Draco," she admitted. It was the final straw, a surprising revelation.

"You haven't already?" I found the prospect unbelievable.

"No," she said, pleading with me.

I rolled my eyes. "Then we shall compromise, my dear, for it's far too late to turn back now." I pushed at her then, forcing her forward, and I sat up. Reaching into her from behind I swirled my fingers through the honeyed, wet mess of her cunt and massaged backward to rub at the tight pink ring of her arse.

"No!" she cried, obviously alarmed.

"Oh, yes," I hissed, and eased the tip of my cock into her arse. She was hot and exquisite and I knew wouldn't be able to stop there. "This is a reasonable compromise." I grabbed onto her hips. Viciously, I pulled her against me, burying my cock in her beautiful, virgin arse with one swift thrust. As my taut sac slapped up against her warm flesh, a shiver burst from my core, my orgasm sprung. I came immediately, stifling a cry, and I bit down so hard the tang of my own fine blood spread over my tongue. I managed several shaky thrusts as I emptied myself into her, my cock convulsing, and I imagined great, thick spurts of my come coating her insides, although I knew this particular vision was mere fantasy on my part.

She drew in her breath, so sharply I heard a surprised whistle. "I'm going to be sick!" she finally managed, gagging slightly. Her face was ashen and wan and a dewy sheen of perspiration had erupted at her hairline. I petted her gently, stroking at her arms, and I whispered soft words of comfort into her ear. I raked my hands through her damp hair and kissed the back of her neck now cooled from the physical shock of what I'd done.

"No, girl, you shall not be sick." I shushed her, soothing her until her flesh again grew warm under my plying touch. "How do you feel now?" I asked, after several minutes had gone by. My cock was still rock hard within her.

"Full," she rasped, still slurring from the port. "All full up."

Finer words she couldn't have spoken. With a growl I invaded her skirts for the final time and dipped my fingers into her cunt once again. I stroked and rubbed at her clit until she was moving in time to my ministrations, and, unlike myself, she couldn't contain her cry as I brought her off. She came hard, her cunt swollen and slick and divine, with such a force that she milked my spent cock, even from such an unlikely vantage. I held her, waiting until she relaxed against me. "I shall leave it to you to get back to me with any need for _Obliviate_."

The Knight Bus lurched to a stop. "Wiltshire!" the conductor called out.

Pansy launched herself down the bus's aisle, pulling free of me with a purposeful, unabashed exit, and she stumbled drunkenly toward the door with both her hands clamped over her mouth, leaving her knickers abandoned at my feet. I rose and lazily did up my trousers, and I made not even the slightest attempt to avoid any prying gaze as I carefully rearranged my cock within my underwear. The corpulent witch fell sideways onto the seat as I collected my son. I shouldered Draco from the Knight Bus, giving the conductor a stern once over as we disembarked -- I remembered him from Azkaban. "Goodnight," I said coldly, as I navigated Draco down the steps. I dropped my last handful of Galleons at the conductor's feet. "For your discretion." I held his gaze sternly until he could no longer stand it and his eyes flicked away. "Imagine! My son, unversed in the matter of spirits."

"Sir," the pimpled youth said, nodding curtly; his mouth twisted into a grudging frown as he considered my offering. He made no move to retrieve the money, and before my final step down from the bus was firmly set upon the ground, the monstrosity had disappeared with a screeching echo.

I left Draco in Annie's care and went in search of my Pansy, locating her finally in one of the downstairs bathrooms. "Are you well, Pansy?" I enquired, through the door.

"I can't pee!" she complained loudly, her voice miserable and shaken.

"You should be able to soon." I chuckled, leaving her there to work through her business. I would see if she would seek me out later for a memory-erasing charm.

\- - -

  


  
_Imago_   


  


  
_  
**13**   
_   


For a fortnight we remained ghost ships in the night, my Pansy and I. Nary a word was spoken between us beyond the expected perfunctory greetings. I noted, with the fierce triumph of the pathologically entitled, that she did not seek me out for a memory charm, and the blush in her cheeks and her fleeting glances when we passed one another showed me she hadn't sought such a favour from anyone else. This only furthered my passion for her. In my interpretation, her not directly saying no only implied her expressed consent. I watched her constantly. She and Draco would play board games by the fire or read from the _Daily Prophet_ to each other at night, and their days were filled with revising and the occasional trip to Knockturn Alley. Neither had completed their education at Hogwarts, as their final year had been derailed by the events of the time. The Ministry was now offering an opportunity for such children as mine, who had been caught up in the final throes of the Dark Lord's doomed reign, to gain their full qualifications. Naturally, I encouraged them both in this ambition.

It was during one of their revising sessions that I looked up from my own reading and found Pansy's gaze fixed upon me, her eyes dark and hungry. I stared back at her until her cheeks reddened and she dipped her head, the sharp angle of her hair hiding the flushed slope of her face. My cock jumped to attention, so strong was my want for her. I had even taken lately to the occasional surreptitious wank, a pastime I rarely indulged in, her name swirling darkly in my mouth as I jerked the seed from my loins.

I marked my place in my book. "I find myself peckish," I said, rising. "I believe a sandwich is in order."

"Father," Draco asked, not looking up from his studies. "Would you bring me some pumpkin juice when you come back?"

"Certainly." I stood, hands on hip. "And Pansy? What should you like to eat tonight?"

"Not pumpkin juice," she said, her eyes flicking to the obvious bulge in my trousers.

"Well, if you're sure," I said, taking my time to exit the room. I made my way leisurely to our kitchen, which was underneath the main floor of the house. The corridors of my manor remained silent as I passed through them, my footsteps falling unheard upon the Persian runners lining the way. My senses felt heightened, as if the beautiful spectre of anticipation itself was there and breathing down the collar of my robes, and giving the fine hairs on the back of my neck cause to rise. At last, as I stepped into the kitchen, I felt the brush of fingers at my back and I whirled to find Pansy there, she having followed me after all, her footsteps as hushed as my own. She looked up at me, undaunted and ready.

"You came," I said, delighted. I swept her up, catching her in my arms, and I threaded my fingers into her hair and yanked her head back, my grip demanding and harsh. I filled her mouth with my tongue, walking her backward until the kitchen table bumped up under the curve of her arse. She bit right back into me, flicking against my tongue with her own. It was a hot, sloppy, traitorous kiss. I set her upon the table with a satisfying thunk, the unwashed dishes from our dinner earlier that evening rattling from the force. "Oh!" I breathed the words shakily into her mouth. "Oh, how long I've waited for you, Pansy! Since the day you were born . . . "

She opened herself up, making room for me between her thighs, her legs dangling in a girlish, charming manner. Our mouths hit and missed in our fervour, and I unbuttoned her blouse with trembling fingers, barely able to contain my lust. "Take off your bra," I ordered her, once her blouse was a discarded heap on the floor. I reached up and undid the front clasp with a practised twist of my fingers, and I ran my hand up her belly until one pert breast nestled perfectly within the curving expanse between my thumb and forefinger. I kneaded lightly until she moaned, and then I circled my fingertips against the soft side of her. "Touch me!" I ordered sharply. "Undo my trousers."

"I--" She seemed at a loss for words, but, really, what would a girl of eighteen have to say that might interest a man of my age?

Alternately, I found myself with plenty to say to her. "Touch my cock, girl," I hissed, snaking my warm tongue around the delicate whorl of her ear as she fumbled with the front of my trousers. I couldn't help but pant when her warm fingers closed around my throbbing erection and she pulled it free from my shorts. Our lips met again as she stroked my length with a relatively firm touch, but our summit at hand was certainly not about her ability or experience -- it was about her destiny! This is what I told myself. "Are you ready to taste me?" I rasped, thrusting my cock sharply through her clenched fist, and I smiled as her breath caught in her throat. My proposition was scandalous indeed. "Surely, you've tasted my son, yes?"

"Yes," she said, wiggling and writhing until she was practically sliding from the table; I felt the hot press of her centre against me. She reached around and dug her fingers into my backside just as I dropped my hand from her tit and caught the underside of her thigh. We moved together, grinding and moaning and sighing, until the crotch of her knickers was so wet it slipped and slid wildly over the dark shadow of her engorged cunt. I reached under her skirt, feeling the desperate sting of our unresolved tension burn its way up my cock as I pulled away from her heat. She helped me take off her knickers and then spread herself so wantonly under my gaze that I had to fight the urge that rose inside of me to bite the smooth, pale plane of her inner thigh until her blood ran down her stockings and pooled in her shoes. Why, I could have eaten her alive!

"Has Draco fucked you yet?" I asked crudely as I knelt in front of her. I rested one of my knees upon a small, house-elf sized stool, which gave me the perfect vantage. Pushing open her thighs I drew in my breath at the sight of her glistening pink folds nestled amongst the shadow of tight, dark curls there. I raised my eyes to her questioningly. "Well?"

"No," she said breathlessly, and leaned back onto the table bracing herself with her hands, inadvertently knocking over a glass milk bottle filled with freshly cut Honeyflower. She didn't fear my scrutiny at all. " _Hurry_!"

"Let him take you tonight," I instructed her. "For I'll not be holding off any longer with you." And with that I pulled her roughly toward me until she squealed and fell back onto her elbows. A pile of soup bowls fell from the table and crashed onto the stone kitchen floor and shattered into pieces, and with a deft shrug I had my shoulder cradling the tender crook of her knee. I felt the heel of her shoe clunk against my back as I licked right into her wet, gorgeous cunt. Confidently I ran my tongue around the smooth, pastel lines of her beautiful folds.

"Oh _God_ ," she cried, immediately grinding back against the bold, learned strokes of my tongue. I laved at the engorged nub of her clit, circling the tip of my tongue expertly against the swollen flesh there, and I reveled in her fine, musky scent as her slick desire coated my chin and mouth. I slid two fingers inside her, my cock aching with anticipation as I breached her tightness with my hand, and I let my ring finger caress her arse lazily, as if delivering a lovely afterthought. I stroked and plied, and circled my tongue against her until she was crying out and I felt her convulsing wave clench and squeeze at my fingers rhythmically as she came.

I gave her a moment to catch her breath before I pulled my hand free, and I rose to capture her mouth so she could taste herself on me. I grabbed her face and devoured her lips, thrusting my tongue into the warm, wet hollow of her mouth, establishing a rhythm of things yet to come. Still kissing, I pulled her from the table. "Get on your knees," I ordered, digging my fingers into her shoulder as I finally broke our kiss, until she dropped in front of me, her chin grazing the tip of my cock as she went down. I widened my stance, stroking my length all the while, my strong, aristocratic fingers jerking at the purple head. I squeezed several anticipatory, pearly drops from the slit there. "Touch my balls," I instructed her, as I ran the tip of my cock over her rosebud lips, and as she lifted her hand to cup me I pressed down on her chin with my thumb and eased myself into her mouth with short, shallow strokes. "Don't let go," I said, in ecstasy as her tentative, nimble fingers caressed my heavy sac.

She looked up at me then, her lush lips stretched around my erection, and I thrust vigourously, unable to hold off. The bulbous head of my cock stroked into the soft groove of her palate as I fucked her mouth, my fingers wound tightly in her hair. "Oh, yes," I said, closing my eyes. The look on her face was just too much -- she would have me coming in seconds, I had no doubt. I felt her hand at my hip, steadying me, and while I was quite practised at maintaining my stamina, the fruition of our consummation was too erotic, too exciting to bear further. I thrust faster and faster, until her nose became buried within the tangle of fair hair around my cock, so deep was I within her throat. "Oh, Pansy, _yes_!" I cried out, and I am quite certain she felt the contracting pull of my balls as my orgasm rushed forth. She pulled away! "No, don't!" I cried out, startled by this reaction. Scrabbling, I pumped my shaft furiously until my hot, milky drops rained down upon her.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, startled.

I hauled her up and bent her over the table, and guided the slick head of my erection between her thighs. "Follow up with Draco tonight," I reminded her, gently wiping her chin clean with my hand. I pressed my still-hard cock into her slick, warm folds from behind, and I slid my arms around her, burrowing against the tabletop until I was cupping her breasts.

" _Oh_!" she said, pushing back against me as her cunt stretched around my experienced cock. I tightened my embrace and kissed her shoulders and the side of her face, and I licked at the mess I'd left on her as I slowly buried myself in her centre. She gasped and I saw her fingertips curl helplessly against the hard surface of the butcher block, yet still she pushed back against me. "I never thought it would be you," she said.

I fucked her leisurely from behind, my immediate lust temporarily curbed. Holding onto her hips, I undulated, a quick glance at my wet, shiny length gliding clean from her with each retracted thrust reassuring me that I had not overly hurt her -- at least not beyond the scope of any usual, expected discomfort. There was only the slightest streakings of blood at first, and these disappeared shortly, reclaimed by her supple, young body, and I held her tight against me and whispered my adoration into her ear and smoothed her brow until my spent member slipped free from her of its own accord -- oh, my sublime, deflowered girl!

\- - -

  


  
_  
**15**   
_   


My home affords me privileges those under my rule know not, and it was a simple matter for me to appear unseen in the deepest shadows of my son's large bedroom, and to remain hidden there as I observed my children's tentative fumblings.

"Is this right?" my son whispered, unsure.

She rose above him in the dark, silhouetted and lithe. "I think so." I imagined Draco's fingers between her legs, trying his best to guide himself inside her. "There," she said, a sigh catching in the back of her throat. She wiggled and strained until she had impaled herself on my son's rigid cock, the small keening noises she made hiding the discomfort she undoubtedly felt. She leaned forward and Draco caught up her breasts in his hands and I saw the fleeting shadow of his hips as he thrust upward, letting loose a low, strangled cry of bliss. Slowly, Pansy began rocking, adjusting as she went, until she had established a clumsy rhythm.

Draco lasted a minute or so. "Mm, fuck, Pansy, _God_!" He bucked against her as he came, sliding his hands down to clutch at her thighs. He groaned, disappointed. "Bloody hell," he bemoaned sheepishly. "I couldn't-- Are you all right?"

"Never better," Pansy whispered, betraying my reign at the head of her queue. She dipped down and hugged my son tightly, and laid her head upon his chest. Even in the dark I could see Draco's fingers stroking her hair, playing there affectionately.

"Right. So, that?" Draco said, his voice still uneven from the force of his climax. "I want to do every minute of every day for the rest of my life."

 _Draco is still young_ , I reminded myself, satisfied as I disintegrated amongst the shadows, leaving them alone to their tedious, puerile afterglow. As he matured, my son would learn to prioritise.

\- - -

  


  
_Flight_   


  


  
_  
**16**   
_   


We embarked on a passionate tour, my Pansy and I, finding fleeting moments for hurried encounters, or arranging languid, secret trysts in the more forgotten corners of my manor. I took her in every conceivable manner, ignoring the irritating scent of my son that lingered upon every inch of her. Come August, though, she became coying, batting away my incessantly roving hands and turning away from my kisses. At times I grew harsh with her and demanded her attention, yet this served only to exacerbate her disobedience. When I'd find her to be in a favourable mood, however, our lustful encounters seemingly provided the fuel for my wretched soul, not to mention my overall libido. Narcissa commented freely on my constant state of arousal. I loved my wife, although at present I found myself entertaining another besides.

Thus, one late-August morning we took breakfast in Narcissa's magnificent gardens, Draco and Pansy having inexplicably departed for London for the weekend. My wife had banished Annie to the kitchens which left us most assuredly alone. It was there, amongst the roses and posies, that my wife rode my cock, under the warm morning sun. She fucked me expertly, fluidly, and with the beautiful, easy comfort that comes with treasured familiarity. My hands roamed freely over her stomach and breasts as she circled against me, her backside bumping nicely against my belly as I clutched at her hips -- oh, dear reader, do forgive me my favoured position! As my final climactic throes shuddered through me, my head fell back in ecstasy, and when I opened my eyes I found the skies were again alive with the swarming, lost butterflies of Trinidad.

"Narcissa, look," I said, as I reached around to leisurely rub her clit. She relaxed against me, my cock still inside her, and tilted her head toward the sky.

"Butterflies," she said, her breath catching. She moaned lightly as I coaxed forth her orgasm.

I held her against me, my arms tight around her. "The last time the butterflies came was when Draco and Pansy were born," I mused, unable to refrain from commenting. "Do you remember?"

"Yes," she said lazily, stroking my forearm, caressing the dormant brand there. We sat quietly for several quiet minutes before my wife spoke again. "I sent Pansy to London for the weekend, Lucius. And Draco, too."

"Did you now?" I said. "An adventure for our little ones?"

Narcissa didn't answer, seeming troubled.

"What is it, love?" I asked, nuzzling at the fine curve of her jaw, just below her ear. I pressed a gentle kiss there.

"Pansy asked me for a potion," Narcissa said, continuing her languid caresses. "She's missed two cycles."

I do believe my cock inverted itself. "What?"

My wife stood then and reached for her robes, an unreadable expression on her face when she turned to face me. "She's missed two of her cycles," she repeated, catching my eye, "which is why the time has come for you to stop your coquetry."

My heart exploded in my chest, pounding away furiously. Would my beautiful, noble wife leave me? How could she know? Had my Pansy and I not been but the epitome of discretion? "Narcissa," I began weakly, rising from the marble bench where we'd just coupled. "I--"

"All I'm saying, Lucius, is that it's time for it to stop." She looked at me, a strange amalgamation of annoyance, compassion and triumph swimming in her eyes. "Yes, I know what you've done."

One thing my wife would never be is unclever. "How could you?" I rasped, not bothering to insult her intelligence by denying her accusation.

A smile played at her lips. "Violet Bulstrode informed me of a most distasteful rumour that began circulating right after Draco's birthday -- you know how she loves to gossip," my wife said. "The Knight Bus conductor, Stan Shunpike, was overheard at the Leaky Cauldron, right off his face, saying you and Pansy had--" she paused for a moment "--engaged in _relations_ on the Knight Bus."

"Well!" I said with a _tsk_. "You would believe that woman? Why, Violet Bulstrode isn't right in the head, Narcissa. You know that!"

"Of course I didn't believe _that_ ," my wife said haughtily, reheating our tea with a tap of her wand. "The Knight Bus? Of course it couldn't be true! What a vile, ridiculous notion."

"Exactly so!" I exclaimed, unable to resist mentally fluffing the laurels of my infallible plan. Lucius Malfoy caught _en flagrante_ in the rear of the Knight Bus? Never! I had been correct in my gamble that no one would ever believe such a tale, even if the tale were true.

"Tea?" Narcissa asked, gesturing at my empty cup.

"Please," I said, collecting my trousers. I pulled them on and then sat as she poured. "Do continue," I said, prompting her.

"It was Anna who alerted me," Narcissa said calmly.

"Anna?" I sneered. "I'll free her straight away."

"No, you will not free her -- now or ever," Narcissa said, her face set stubbornly. "For it is your own fault that you were caught! Haven't I always instructed you on the importance of keeping the best interests of the house staff forefront at all times? Lucius, I thought we had addressed this problem of yours after you lost us Dobby."

"Regardless," I said, rolling my eyes. "A house-elf of mine should take my orders, as I am their master and this is my home!"

"You know it doesn't work that way. You of all people should know that when protecting a secret one must be very careful in the matter of instruction. Anna is loyal to me." My wife looked at me then. "She does not like being called 'Annie' -- it's not her name."

My mouth fell open in surprise.

"Yes, your misnomer allowed her to partially circumvent your order. Anna came to me," Narcissa said, fixing a calm, deliberate stare upon my stunned face, and she forced me to hold her gaze. "Just as Dobby went to _your_ mother those many years ago when I myself was eighteen. Dobby was loyal to your mother, Lucius, and he kept her well apprised of the state of her home."

Her words were like a fist to the gut as their implication blossomed.

"No!" I said, anger igniting within me. Had my cursed father still been alive, I would have killed him myself that day. "You can't be serious!"

"I was young," Narcissa said, with a shrug so dismissively refined it wrenched at my heart. "And have you yourself not always taken great pride in stressing to any who would listen of how perfectly you are Abraxas Malfoy's son? Why, you have now proven yourself correct!"

I held my tea dumbly, at a total loss for words, and just then a Blue Morpho butterfly drifted down from the swarms overhead and alit upon the rim of my teacup. Savagely I grabbed at it, and squashed the docile creature dead within the crush of my fist.

"Well done, Lucius," Narcissa said, nodding affirmatively. "That's exactly right -- there shall be no more butterflies." She lifted a plate from the table, no doubt left there by Anna, proffering with a pleasant smile. "Biscuit?"

"No," I said dryly.

She selected one for herself before returning the plate to the table. "So, here we are," my wife said, crossing one leg at the knee as she considered me across the wrought iron garden table. She chewed her biscuit thoughtfully, and then washed it down with a delicate sip of her pekoe. "Pansy and Draco have gone to London with my detailed directions in hand to help them find the potion they seek -- should they actually need it, I should say. Pansy _did_ mention she can sometimes be irregular." She leaned forward and rested her forearms on her knee, cup and saucer in hand. "This is the last we shall speak of your indiscretion. Surely we would never wish to have this conversation again, wouldn't you agree? Nor would we want to spend our twilight years pondering the distasteful question of who might have actually sired our grandchildren."

Narcissa's words were a knife to my heart! I gasped as the full ramifications of her suggestion burgeoned within my mind, yet I found myself unable to keep my admiration at bay of her shrewd, detached handling of the situation. Alas, we sat there together, she sipping her tea calmly and I completely undone, the crushed Blue Morpho floating dead in my cup.

She continued, "How terrible it would be for Pansy to ever shoulder such an unrelenting burden of doubt." And then she delivered the fell blow. "Do you recall, Lucius, that such potions weren't available in our day? Not that I would have ever used such a concoction, mind. How I love my son!" Her face softened as she was momentarily overcome by the treasured delight of her motherhood; however, she kept her eyes upon me, unrelenting. "But, that's me."

Oh! Slain by her words! Her agonising, merciless words which from that day forth would irreparably colour the depths of my soul with the hellish, inky black of doubt.

"Are we sorted?" she asked, quite businesslike.

"We are," I said, surprised I had in me a heart that should splinter.

"Good. It's settled, then."

"Indeed."

\- - -

  


  
_Cocoons of Memory_   


  


  
_  
**17**   
_   


It is here I must end my tale, dear reader, my tattered snapshot of her abruptly tossed to the wind. My son and his flower returned from their London stay and nary was a word ever spoken between my Pansy and myself of events best left to the past.

I never touched my Pansy again, although the hunger and longing for my lust for her would thrum through my veins evermore -- I would long bitterly for the fleeting days where not only had my passion been most fervoured, but when also my longing had been realised by her returned affections. My memories of her roil freely within my mind, although their images seem merely vacant cocoons discarded and forgotten in the wake of her flight. This was as reprehensible a prison as I'd experienced, for even if she were to stray back to me -- just one more time, dear reader! Just one more time! Although, I can assure you she never again did -- in my heart I knew it would never meet, could never exceed, the pen-ultimate high of our first coupling, and therein lay the hopeless crux of my want. This was the quandary of my addiction, for I knew I could time and again seek such great heights, but it would undoubtedly prove to be a wasted venture. My brass ring lay tarnished and discarded, and while I might look for a future amongst the detritus, my window to her was indelibly stained. My Pansy, as I would always see her, could remain memorialised only amongst the heavy pages of time, her wild Heartsease youth forever alluring and grand. My solipsist allegories of our time together now immortally entrenched, it was in this light that I would remember the vestiges of our ignoble affair, as the vivid and twisted culmination of a debauched, eighteen-year crescendo of my own orchestration. Believe me, oh reader, I shall spend the rest of my days hopelessly lost amongst the wasted longings, batting fruitlessly at the evanescent, gossamer memories caged within my vainglorious mind, and it is only here I may indenture my licentious desire for the fleeting, exquisite first bite of that which was my Pansy's Prussian imago.

  
_-End-_   


**Author's Note:**

> Written mostly during [Banned Books Week 2006](http://www.ala.org/Template.cfm?Section=bbwlinks&Template=/ContentManagement/ContentDisplay.cfm&ContentID=136590) and inspired by the novel _Lolita_ , by Vladimir Nabokov. I suppose this is a tribute of sorts. I won't assume everyone has read either _Lolita_ or Nabokov at all, so I think I should mention that Nabokov is an extremely purple writer, but in such a grand and majestic way, one just has to be forgiving! So, in that vein, the effusive, over-the-top writing style I've used in this fic is very deliberate. I figured if there was any Harry Potter character I could plausibly do this with it would be Lucius Malfoy, the pompous sod!
> 
>  _Heartsease_ : The juice of pansy blossoms is traditionally used for love potions. Heartsease refers to the uncultivated, wild pansy, and in combination with the honeyflower is a visual representation of forbidden love.
> 
> Summary: _All fathers are invisible in daytime; daytime is ruled by mothers and fathers come out at night. Darkness brings home fathers, with their real, unspeakable power. There is more to fathers than meets the eye._ \- Margaret Atwood, _Cat's Eyes_
> 
> So, yeah, _Lolita_! While I'm typically a fan of sparser writing, there is something about Vladimir Nabokov's opulent purple prose in _Lolita_ specifically that fascinates me. Our own JK Rowling counts _Lolita_ as [one of her favorite novels](http://www.quick-quote-quill.org/articles/2000/0500-heraldsun-templeton.html). And what is the last line of _Lolita_ , that made JKR cry? _I am thinking of aurochs and angels, the secret of durable pigments, prophetic sonnets, the refuge of art. And this is the only immortality you and I may share, my Lolita._
> 
> Where I would disagree with JRK over, though, is the idea that _Lolita_ is a love story, and that's what made doing a _Lolita_ tribute fic using Lucius as the protagonist so appealing. I felt Lucius would be a character who would prioritize his own hedonistic desires and wants over everything else -- he demonstrates his inadequate impulse control when he slips Ginny Weasley Tom Riddle's diary in Flourish and Blotts, which we subsequently learn is a Horcrux. Like H.H. in _Lolita_ , Lucius Malfoy exists only within his own solipsistic frame of reference, where his interpretations of others supersede the reality of what an individual's wants and needs may really be. Lucius thinks nothing of depriving Pansy of her own father in order to further his prurient goal, still years away, nor does he particularly worry about Narcissa or Draco. He thinks of Pansy as a possession, which I tried to show with the line _"I--" She seemed at a loss for words, for, really, what would a girl of eighteen have to say that might interest a man of my age?_ I think I just wanted to write something that demonstrates how actions speak volumes more than words, and that sometimes people can be easily lost or morally mislead in the face of a breathtaking, exquisite presentation of words.
> 
> Nabokov was an avid lepidopterist, which is a fancier of butterflies and the scientific study of butterflies. Nabokov's work is known for containing butterfly references.


End file.
